Balance of Power
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: When the power goes out, Ellie tries to get some help from her neighbor but, at that very moment, Casey is powerless in other ways.  Written for the Girl Saves Boy ficathon on livejournal.


Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Written for the Girl Saves Boy ficathon on LiveJournal. Many, many thanks to the lovely and talented GoddessofBirth for her beta-ing talents on this as well.

Spoilers—Through the end of Season 3. (Started writing before Season 4 started, to make sure I'd meet the deadline)

Balance of Power—When the power goes out, Ellie tries to get some help from her neighbor but, at that very moment, Casey is powerless in other ways.

* * *

Eleanor-Ellie-Bartowski was in the middle of preparing dinner when the lights went out. Sighing heavily, she abandoned the tomatoes she was in the middle of dicing and washed her hands. Drying them on the towel by the stove, she headed towards the breaker box. She wasn't so helpless that she didn't know her way around home repairs. Growing up, if she'd waited on her father to accomplish it, she'd be waiting forever.

_Rest his soul_, she thought sadly as she hit the reset switch.

When nothing happened, she allowed her eyes to close momentarily.

She knew her brother, Chuck Bartowski, who lived in the apartment across the courtyard, was gone as was his live-in girlfriend, Sarah Walker, jetting off to Washington D.C. The third musketeer, Chuck's long-time childhood friend, Morgan Grimes, was out doing God only knew what.

Her husband, Devon, was working a double shift at Westside Medical Center and would be expecting a warm and "awesome" home-cooked meal before too long.

As she padded back to her living room, her thoughts drifted somewhere they ought not. After all, he had no reason to forgive her after what she'd done.

His face had met the unfortunate flat bottom of her favorite skillet earlier in the year.

But, if there was one thing her neighbor John Casey was, it was resourceful. She should've trusted him when he'd offered his home remedy for malaria. Her husband had caught a rather dreadful case while they were serving with Doctors Without Borders.

Casey was a Marine and, though the relationship had definitely suffered through her thinking he was treasonous, they were still friends. Kind of. She hoped.

She let herself out into the courtyard, crossing towards Casey's apartment. She hesitated a moment before knocking.

As she waited for him to open the door, she tried to finalize her thoughts into some semblance of an intelligent request for assistance.

_Seems the power is out. By the way, do you have a portable gas grill or something I could cook on? _

She winced a little at that.

_I'm sure you're aware of the power outage._

Still not good. Casey was many things, including observant. Of course he'd know that they were standing there in the dark.

_You're a spy. Do you have a generator hiding in there, to ensure that your super-secret spy-stuff stays, well, super-secret? And if so, could I borrow it to plug in my electric hotplate?_

She ran her fingers through her long dark hair when the door opened finally. Granted, it didn't open very wide. It did open wide enough to see that his power was definitely _on_. "Hey, John," she said, smiling a little. "I was wondering..."

"It's really not a good time right now," he said harshly.

"I... I'm sorry, but I have just a quick question, if I could."

"It's really not a good time, _Anna_."

She blinked. Of all the things Casey was, forgetful wasn't one of them. "I..." Maybe she'd just heard wrong.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he said, repeating the name of Morgan's old girlfriend, his blue eyes staring at her intently.

She could only stare back at him. While she knew he was trying to get her a message of some description, she wasn't entirely sure what it was. She opened her mouth to try to respond but she was interrupted by his closing door.

As she attempted to process what had just happened, she took two slow steps back from his apartment.

There's no way he would've done that unintentionally. There was a reason for that. For his calling her by the wrong name.

Numbly, she headed back to her apartment, standing just in the open doorway and glancing back at his place.

The blinds were closed, which wasn't anything new or different. But, calling her _Anna_? That was beyond peculiar.

She let herself in, leaning against the closed front door and glancing at her watch.

Chuck and Sarah were on a plane, headed for Washington D.C., for some kind of final, final, _absolutely_ final briefing with the high spy muckety-mucks. Ellie'd been quite specific when it came to protecting what was _left_ of her family. Chuck was no longer to be a spy, period.

She crossed to her purse, rifling through the contents to find her cell phone. It seemed like, no matter what she put into her handbag, it always multiplied. Finally locating the device near the bottom, she pulled it out and, on the off-chance they were grounded, waiting on a connecting flight, she called her brother's girlfriend.

"This is Sarah. Leave a message."

Ellie closed her eyes tightly. "Sarah, it's Ellie, I... I think there's something going on back here at the apartment. John was... John was stranger than normal. Please call me back, as _soon_ as you get this..."

* * *

Casey didn't exactly like being held hostage in his _own_ apartment. It wasn't the first time that the fight had been brought, literally, to his front door. He just appreciated it much more when it was in the field.

Eventually, he'd see this as a learning experience. He'd see where his security system had exploitable weaknesses. He'd learn what _not_ to do in a similar situation should, God forbid, lightning ever strike twice.

Eventually was not at the moment, however, as he watched the gunman, narrowing his eyes. He didn't appreciate having a handgun pointed squarely at his head while he sat on his own recliner. "So, are you going to tell me what it is you're looking for?"

The other operative, who was currently sitting with his dirty boots propped up on the computer desk, could only chuckle. "Oh, c'mon now. You aren't telling me this is a little entertaining? You... stuck here, in your own apartment, unable to do much of, well, _anything_?"

Casey grit his teeth. "If you told me what you were after, maybe I could save you the trouble."

"Oh, come now, Big John," said the operative, tossing another stack of files onto the floor, the intelligence within scattering. "Where's the _fun_ in that?"

The Marine grunted.

"Seriously, we know that they tried to turn you. More than once. Everybody's got a weakness, an Achilles' heel. I think everybody did a happy dance when the NSA's own _boogie-man_ turned out to have a family. Easy targets, Kathleen and Alex." He watched as Casey's fists balled even tighter, if that were possible. "See? That right there, that's what I'm talking about. It's amazing how emotions can blind you."

Casey thought of other things that could blind his captor. He had a whole litany of things that would work, most of them within arm's reach. It was just a matter of getting to one of them _before_ the gunman opened fire. But, now that he knew Ellie was home, he wasn't about to do something risky, not and get himself shot, leaving her vulnerable.

He wasn't sure what he _could_ do to get out of the sticky situation he'd found himself in. It had happened too fast. Before he'd fully realized what was going on, he was at the mercy of a gunman and someone on a power kick, gleefully thumbing through his files, getting grubby fingers all over the keyboard, trying to crack the access codes.

The only good thing was that his personal access code, the one that would unlock the secrets to that particular computer, was something that no one would ever guess, that no one would ever figure out.

It was thanks to a secret locked so deep within his own heart that he didn't let any inkling of it out. There was no way, no possible way, that anyone on the _planet_ could know what his access code was. Not any terrorist, any rogue spy, or even his closest allies.

Casey preferred it that way. It was the best way to keep the intelligence as safe as possible.

As it was, all the operative was getting was older intelligence, things of no pertinent value _now_. Blueprints from clubs and hotels from missions past. Train times from weeks ago. Weather patterns from a month ago. Shooting schedules of some TV show downtown. It was almost random.

"See," the operative said, looking at the gunman, "what I don't get is how, even with that kinda _bait_, he doesn't take it. I mean, it sounds like, from some of the reports I've read on this guy, that he's like an injured bear. Enough provocation..." He looked squarely at Casey with an easy grin.

One that Casey wanted to remove from the man's face permanently.

"And he snaps."

* * *

She tried Chuck's phone, just in case his was on and hers wasn't. It had gone straight to his voicemail as well.

She tried Morgan's number, though she wasn't sure what she'd say to him, as Anna was his ex-girlfriend.

_Hey, Morgan. I hate to bother you, do you have a moment? Great... Seems John Casey called me by Anna's name. Do you have any idea as to why he'd do such a thing? No? Yeah, me neither... Weird, right?_

She closed her eyes, listening as it went to _his_ voicemail. "Morgan, it's Ellie. If you get this, call me back. There's... I dunno, there's something odd going on."

Ending the call, she pondered calling her husband, but he was scheduled to be in surgery off and on the rest of the day, more on than off. Glancing at the cutting board on the kitchen counter, she realized dinner was just going to have to wait.

But, whatever it was that was troubling Casey, that couldn't.

She paced, trying to think like a spy.

As much as she hated to, she thought back to the things that Justin Sullivan had taught her. In the long debrief she'd had with Chuck, she'd learned that Sullivan was really a CIA agent and that some of the things he'd told her were truthful.

Just the details were twisted, corrupted.

It wasn't Casey trying to get to her father... it was Sullivan.

She couldn't dwell on that, though.

She paced, making laps between her kitchen, around her dining room table, through her living room and back again, chewing on a fingernail. It was a horrible habit, one she tried to break off and on through the years with various shades of lacquer, but it had never quite taken.

Anna.

That was just _wrong_. That wasn't her name at all.

Wrong...

She paused.

He'd called her that to inform her that there was something amiss. So that she'd get help.

But, there was no help coming. Chuck and Sarah weren't scheduled to be back for another three days. And she really wasn't sure what Morgan was up to. Devon was occupied. She could call Alex, but there was no need in upsetting the girl. She'd been through enough hell, too, within the past several months. Not to mention, if anything happened to Casey's daughter, Ellie would never forgive herself.

She was the only one, his only hope.

And the _power_ was still out at her apartment.

"Think, Ellie," she whispered. Either Casey had fallen and hit his head, perhaps causing a concussion with displaced memories, or there was someone in the apartment with him, someone that prevented him from telling her directly what was wrong.

Since she hadn't seen any evidence of physical trauma to his head, she assumed the latter.

She couldn't exactly call the police. What would she tell them? _Yes, 911? Hi, my neighbor, who is a spy, is being held captive, possibly by other spies... _

She knew it was already bad enough that she knew their secret identities. Plus, what if they came rolling in, with lights and sirens, and spooked whoever it was who had Casey? What would happen then?

While she was a doctor and she would be able to save his life if he got shot, she'd rather avoid bloodshed if at all possible.

She ticked off a list of things that were still working. The water was still on. Her car would run. Devon's iPod. Her meat thermometer. The travel alarm clock in the guest bedroom. Her fire extinguisher. She had a whole selection of candles and matches.

As her brain kicked into overdrive as to what she could do with those items, she wondered what the worst possible outcome would be. Would it be that she looked like the world's biggest _idiot_ for coming up with that crackpot plan? Or would it be that he would be hurt, possibly killed, in the intervening hours or _days_ that it would take for backup to arrive.

If anything, she owed him one, maybe one _thousand_ for all the times he took care of her brother.

Inhaling slowly, deeply, she tried to find her calm center, to focus on the plan, to be confident that it would work.

The best she could muster was finding her center full of nervous energy, and a _hope_ that the plan might not fail.

* * *

After sixty failed attempts at the pass code, the operative looked over at Casey.

The Marine looked impassively back at him.

"I've tried every combination of birthdays, social security numbers, every alphanumerical code I can think of, from your hometown with zip code to your apartment number, to something _Buy More_ related. What the hell is it?"

It was a secret so deep within, he'd never admit it aloud. Something personal, something he kept, something just for him. He grunted, looking away from the operative, focusing on the bonsai tree that sat on top of a bookshelf directly in front of him.

"This is getting_ old_, Casey. Much like _you_."

"I must be of some value to your employer, otherwise you wouldn't be here," Casey said simply.

"You aren't so valuable you can't be _replaced_," he taunted.

Casey smirked. "That so? Why am I still here, then?"

The operative stood, pulling his own gun and pointing it at Casey.

Casey didn't flinch, even when the gun was cocked.

"Give me your access code."

"Not going to happen," Casey returned.

There was momentary silence in the apartment, enough to hear that there was something going on outside.

All three sets of eyes turned toward the kitchen window.

"Your partner's supposed to be on a plane going bye-bye," said the operative.

"There's more than one CIA and one NSA agent in this town," Casey said. "You think they're not going to come looking for me when I haven't checked in?"

"You aren't on a mission," the operative said with a sneer.

"I'm not?" Casey questioned.

It tripped up the operative, giving him pause for a moment.

In that moment, they all heard rustling again, this time at the front window.

"Check it out," the operative told the gunman.

While the handgun remained pointed at Casey's head, the gunman crossed to the blinds, lifting one slightly to peek out.

"Well?"

"I don't see anything."

Casey wondered what was going on, too. He knew that Sarah and Chuck should've been somewhere over the Midwest at the moment. There was no way it was them. Morgan, maybe?

As much as he hated to think that the troll would be responsible for his being freed, he'd thank the goblin begrudgingly at some point.

* * *

Ellie sat with her back to the wall, a lit candle in one hand, the stake for the meat thermometer in the other. She wasn't sure what heating the thermometer with a candle would do to its ability to work in the long run, but that meant she'd have to live past the next fifteen minutes. And if the situation in Casey's apartment was as bad as her imagination was leading her to believe, then that was a pretty big _if_ at the moment.

She'd fashioned two fake "C-4" bombs out of tiny tubs of black and white play-doh left over from trick-or-treating last Halloween, some spare wiring in a box of her dad's old computer _things_, and some electrical tape. The one on the kitchen window held the ticking travel alarm clock. The one on the front would be beeping any moment now, if she could get the thermometer hot enough.

She felt almost MacGuyverish. All she was missing was the chewing gum and the paperclip.

Sitting next to her on the ground was the fire extinguisher. While she knew she wasn't _actually_ going to set the play-doh on fire, she decided it might not be a bad thing to have on hand, just in case. Beside it sat her heaviest frying pan.

Quietly, she drew her feet even closer to her body, pressing herself against the wall when she heard the curtains shift above her. _Please, let this work_.

* * *

The gunman dropped the slat, shaking his head. "It's nothing."

Casey, however, wasn't so sure. He continued to look at his front window, as if trying to will himself to have x-ray vision, to see what was going on.

"All right, Casey. You've got two seconds. Give me the code."

"If you shoot me, you'll never get the code," Casey said.

"If I don't, you won't give it to me anyway, will you? I'm just wasting my time here."

The Marine smirked. "Your words. Not mine."

"Man, screw this," the operative said, looking at the gunman.

Before either could pull the trigger, there was a beeping sound.

All three men stopped, listening as it continued.

The gunman turned around, looking at the front window again, seeing a red blinking light. "Uh..."

"What is it?"

The gunman reached out, lifting the curtains just enough to see the explosives-looking charge on the sill.

"Looks like you aren't even important to your _government_," taunted the operative, trying to grab the computer to make a run for it.

In that moment, Casey finally jumped the gunman, knocking him to the ground. While the Marine wasn't sure what was going on exactly, he knew that would be his only opportunity, with them scrambling, to try and gain the upper hand.

* * *

It was distinctive, the sound of someone _tackling_ someone else. She could only hope that it had been Casey on the giving end rather than the receiving end. Blowing out the candle, she got to her feet, grabbing the extinguisher and the pan, heading for his front door.

_Please, let it be unlocked_.

With the pan tucked under her arm, she tried the handle, amazed that it gave away. She slammed the door open, hitting the operative, who had been trying to escape, with enough force to send him reeling backwards. All she could see was the computer tower balanced precariously on one hand and the _gun_ in the other.

Hefting the extinguisher, she let the operative's face take the full brunt force of the chemicals within the red metal canister.

He made the mistake of crying out.

While Ellie wasn't sure what a fire extinguisher would taste like, she didn't imagine it would taste particularly well.

With one target neutralized, she looked over to see Casey on the ground, going punch for punch with the gunman.

The handgun sat unattended between the rolling fighters and her. She managed to kick it into the courtyard.

With the canister's contents completely consumed, she tossed the empty extinguisher at the operative, finally knocking the man over.

"Get out of here!" Casey called to her.

The gunman looked up to see who the Marine's savior was and actually laughed when he saw her, a frying pan in her hands. He heaved himself off of Casey, trying to make his way toward her.

Casey caught the man's ankle, giving Ellie enough time to rare back with her swing.

Unlike when she'd taken the same pan to Casey's face, the gunman fell on her first try. While she'd like to think it was because she was getting better at defending herself, she had a feeling it was really because the gunman wasn't anywhere near as strong as her neighbor. "John, are you okay?"

Casey slowly got to his feet, reluctantly taking the hand she offered to him. He felt around the tender places on his face, taking in the split at the corner of his mouth, the growing bruise under his right eye. "Yeah. I'm all right." Then he remembered. "Ellie, the C-4!"

She caught his arm before he could run outside. "At ease, Colonel. It isn't what you think it is."

He looked at her curiously.

"Instead of an IED, it's a FIED..."

"What are you talking about?"

"A _fake_ improvised explosive device..."

"How did you..." He stopped, deciding on a better question: "_Why_ did you?"

"I guessed you needed help. I guessed right."

"I meant call Walker, call Grimes, _not_ take matters into your own hands!"

"I did! And I called Chuck, too, but nobody answered."

Didn't she understand why doing what she'd done was a _bad_ idea? His voice dropped lower, softer. The tone was full of genuine concern: "You could've gotten hurt..."

She surveyed their surroundings, taking in the two groaning men on the floor and the one slightly banged up man standing in front of her. In comparison, she didn't have a scratch on her. "Are you okay?"

It was nothing a couple aspirin wouldn't cure. "I'm fine, Ellie." For a moment, he wondered if they'd wound up with the wrong Bartowski all along, if Ellie should've been the one recruited. Clearly, she had the same penchant her brother had for using non-lethal weaponry. Although, her level of creativity, he had to admit, as he surveyed the fake explosive, was quite impressive. He was pretty sure Chuck, even with the Intersect in his head, wouldn't have come up with _that_ solution. Her cleverness, her intuitiveness was unparallelled. "All thanks to you."

* * *

End.


End file.
